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Olds’s brilliant 1980 debut collection threw down a gauntlet with its transgressive title poem, a taboo-busting attempt to write her way out of the abusive confines of her childhood, both recalling and transcending the confessional poetry of Plath and Sexton. Several decades, collections, and awards later, the audacious candor and raw physicality of lines that course with blood, milk, sweat, and feces are perhaps less striking than the startling originality of Olds’s figurative language. In four sections that trace the poet’s cyclical progress from “Daughter” to “Woman” to “Mother” and onward on her “Journey,” Olds trains her unsparing lens like a war correspondent of humankind’s innermost struggles, transfixing readers with glaring and often surreal images that lay bare the deepest truths. While her merciless tone can be “black as Emma Bovary’s bile,” there are glimpses of sly wit, as when she teases Whitman and Ginsberg in surpassing them at “this giving birth, this glistening verb.“ From its frank opening salvo to its closing prayer that she remain “faithful to the central meanings,” Olds’s extraordinary debut beautifully prefigures her subsequent career as one of the United States’ most sublime poets of embodied existence. Olds’s many fans will rejoice to see this once-inflammatory little paperback dressed up in a handsome hardcover, lovingly introduced by fellow Pulitzer Prize winner Diane Seuss.